95 days ago i was living in a tent shooting meth. I feel better but i have a long ways to go. Im in a sober living and have a sponsor. I mostly go to groups and lay in bed and play games. My dopamine is pretty null. All i know is that i know the end game of addiction. Its bleak and involves insanity a death. Sobriety i dont know what the endgame is,it could be bad or good. With just a chance of having a good life it makes sobriety worth a shot. If i relapse i start the same cycle and end up crying,cold, and wishing i never relapsed.

I think about getting high everyday, i have 500 dollars stashed away incase i decide to relapse. I stole a benzendrex inhaler from a store just to have it. The demon is alive and well,but his voice weakens a tiny bit each day.

Heres something i wrote during a craving a couple weeks ago.

A tweaker and his brain. A short journey pt 1

Every store i go into, i want to steal something. I have to steal something. It’s a part of me now. Over so many years of shoplifing to support my habits, it’s in my DNA. It feels impossible to stop. When i walk around, i notice spots that would like like a good spot to sleep if i was homeless. I feel free walking around. Each new step i take it feels like im finishing a little task. My brain likes that. I can focus. A poignant sense of freedom i get when i look around. Being homeless was an adventure, survival at its core. Slipping into the riverbottom felt like home. It was me,my drugs and mother nature. Wiping spider webs out of my face as i walked to my tent. There’s a river i have to cross, a makeshift bridge has been assembled by other travlers of the great san diegan River. I tip toe across like a trapese artist, and my feet hit the sand as i adjust my two backpacks over my shoulder for the 3523 time. They are full of dirty clothes that i have been wearing for the last 3 weeks. I tried washing a pair of pants in the river, resting in peace to those pants. I get to my camp and get my pull out chairs from some bushes i had them stashed in. This chair is my most important item, it makes it so i can just sit anywhere im traveling and just get all comfy and do some meth and watch some porn, my day was full of finding the best place to isolate and do hedonistic things.

at the camp, i sigh and collapse into my chair like a budnle of twigs. I have not eaten or slept in a few days. It’s been sounding like the vietnam War in my head. Helicopters, army boats, machine gunfire, it always sounded like that because of the freeway nearby coupled with the dopamine stimulation and lack of sleep im literally a prisoner of war In my chair, i close my eyes and listen to the gun fire and helicopters and drift off to sleep. I awake hours later, and my phone is dead. It feels like it’s probably 4 a.m., judging by the way the moonlight is hitting my tent. The war was over, and there was no more gunfire. Just the sound of a freeway and the passing trolleys overhead, my tent was under a trolley bridge it provided shade during the day. I watched the trolleys scurry off to some distant land full of people commuting. Nobody knew someone was living below them as they travled merrily. I pack my pipe and get high as my stomach grumbles. I grab my packpack, 711 opens soon. The sun is starting to show his face and lights my way. Its beautiful the passing trolleys and rays of light hitting the trees, like a calm after a war. The war was over for now...lets resupply before the next one. Until next time.....